Sharpened Sticks Carl Grimes
by gberryb
Summary: Rick was just...gone. Carl looked all over for him but to no avail. Fearing the worse, he stumbled out into the cruel apocalypse completely alone. There was no doubt the teen could take care of himself but...isolated and independent? He couldn't stand a chance without some luck on his side. The thing is, in the world of the walking dead, he might've had a lot of it.
1. He's Just Gone

Carl felt bile rise up in the back of his throat.

One moment later, he was vomiting his (recently eaten) breakfast of dry Rasin Bran next to some dead walkers he had (recently) killed. He made a mental note of how grainy the cereal felt coming back up and decided that he would never eat it again without some kind of liquid to accompany it.

Damn. If only there was milk in the fucking apocalypse!

With a smack of his foul-tasting lips and a wipe of his sleeve he picked up his gun. Standing before the walkers lying dead in their pile, he muttered in a bitter tone.

"I win."

The teen slowly stepped through the room, taking off the filthy button-down layered over his actual shirt. "I killed three walkers." He stated plainly as if it were no big deal. "They were at the door."

It was actually quite a big deal to him. He proved something to himself that he figured he never would.

"They were gonna get in...but," He paused. "I lured them away."

He placed a hand on the back of the couch his unconscious father was sleeping on. All of Carl's talking had been directed towards him even though he couldn't possibly hear.

The earlier attempt to wake him proved that much.

"I killed them."

The sound of his own voice pressed a weight in the atmosphere for the teen. It suddenly turned heavy and he felt bolder than before.

"I saved you." He said with growing emotion in his voice. His feelings were boiling over and what a better to release them?

"I saved you." He said again more insistently, slightly hoping for some response.

Rick still lay motionless. Unaware of his son's outbursts. This caused Carl to sigh with added frustration.

"I didn't forget while you had us playing farmer." He added. "I still know how to survive."

Another soft silence ensued between the one-sided conversation.

"Lucky for us." He whispered.

Carl shook his head slightly and narrowed his eyes at the man on the couch. "I don't need you anymore."

"I don't need you to protect me anymore."

He stepped closer to the couch, swaying. He didn't want his father to hear what he was saying but...he had to at least say it.

"I can take care of myself." He said with a rising voice. "You probably couldn't protect me anyways!"

Carl was on the verge of shouting and rage was quite evident on his face. The developing veins in his neck were somewhat visible, the baring of his teeth and the look directed at his father.

"You couldn't protect Judith!" He hissed. "You couldn't protect..."

He paused, thinking once more of the repercussions of his actions.

"Hershel. Or Glen. Or Maggie. Michonne. Daryl."

With every word, hatred and bitterness enunciated itself. Carl couldn't help how he felt. He had to direct it somewhere. And he found the place.

"Or mom."

He gave another throaty sigh. "You just wanted to plant vegetables."

"You just wanted to hide! He knew where we were and you DIDN'T CARE!" He yelled, balling up his fists. "You just hid behind those fences and waited f-..."

The teen backed off again. His eyes couldn't bear to look at his father again but they did. He felt like crying but desperation surfaced instead.

"They're all gone now!" He growled again.

"BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"THEY COUNTED ON YOU! YOU WERE THEIR LEADER!" He screamed.

With a defeated sniff to bite back tears he sat down on the floor near his father's feet. He rested his hands on his knees and looked down at the floor in front of him.

"But now... you're nothing."

The words were undoubtedly harsh. Even Carl realized that as he was saying them. But they needed to be known. By him or Rick, it didn't matter. As long as they had some kind of outlet it would be okay.

Slowly, the tears overtook him and he rested his hat adorned head on his arms.

The teen wasn't positive how much time had passed but he was certain of one thing. He had to go scavenging for supplies.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and his eyes with his hands before getting to his feet. There was a canvas bag laying next to him that held their dwindling supplies. With a forceful jerk, he emptied the contents onto the floor and began to leave.

"I'd be fine if you died."

He didn't look back once as his feet crossed the threshold.

The walker attack left him breathless with his heart pounding mercilessly against his chest. Breath after breath he calmed himself, making sure he leaned up against the thick wooden door that kept him from the thing.

A white item laying on the floor caught his attention, so he picked it up.

Chalk.

He sighed and took a fleeting glance at his left foot which was missing a shoe. He had to commemorate the shitty memory somehow.

A minute later Carl stepped back from his masterpiece and gave a solemn smile.

'WALKER INSIDE. Got my shoe but didn't get me.'

The teen admired his handiwork before walking off to grab his pudding, bag, and empty gun. He sat on the roof, admiring that the walker couldn't get him and chowed down on the thick, chocolate-y goodness.

The sight of the abandoned neighborhood was eerily beautiful. Vines and overgrown brush seemed to wrangle the flowerbeds into submission as well as coat the sides of the houses. The crumbled asphalt road seemed to lead forever and had a great view of the entire street.

He felt like a king for once.

Then, he saw something. At first, he figured it was his shaggy hair that caused him to see an apparition of sorts. But no.

On closer inspection, he noticed the far away being was trying to get into a house. So, it couldn't be some sort of walker.

He watched as it slipped inside a white two story home that was nearly covered in brush.

Curiosity suddenly took over the teen but...he couldn't track this person down without a shoe.

Remembering that a boy had obviously lived in the home that he and his father were occupying, Carl figured there might be shoes about his size in the closet.

He was right.

In fact, the 'borrowed' hiking boots were just a smidgen too big. They were extremely comfortable and Carl cursed at himself that he hadn't thought of the idea sooner.

Just to check, the teen walked into the room where his father should've been sleeping.

His heart nearly dropped into the pit of his soul.

The couch had been ripped away from the door like someone had been in a hurry to get out (or get in). A cable that the teen had found and tied around the door handle had been cut, but that's not what scared him.

Rick was missing.

"Dad?!" Carl called, whirling around to look for any sign of the older man. "DAD?!"

A few hours later the teen returned to an empty house. He sat down at the kitchen table and cried. Now, completely alone, he thought about his previous actions.

Had his father heard him and decided to leave? Just the idea was crippling and he broke into even deeper sobs. Everything he had said earlier to the unconscious man was instantly taken back. He wanted to apologize tell the man he loved him unconditionally but...he was missing.

Speaking of which, Carl knew that person had to be responsible for his dad's disappearance. He had searched absolutely everywhere...except for the white house.

Maybe it was about time to pay, whoever it was, a visit.


	2. Your Name?

He stood down the street, looking at the large white house, and nearly hissed. Someone was in there and they, no doubt, were the reason Rick was gone.

Come hell or high water, he was going to find his father, and he was certain that person knew where he was.

Surveillance.

Carl stalked the house for what seemed like forever. No one came in, out, or even around the house. The only motion in the vicinity was overgrown tree limbs and grass swaying from a suddenly cold breeze.

The teen shivered, realizing that he had no other choice but to check the house.

Stealth.

The sky was growing darker and Carl felt a pressure in the air. His instincts, always itching for movement, were yelling at him. Rain.

With each soft step, he made sure to shy away from the windows, but would carefully try to peek in if he felt like he could. He eventually made it to the front door and sighed when he found it open a crack.

No one in their right mind would leave the door open during a zombie apocalypse.

This new information made him want to turn around and go back to the house he was temporarily staying in. Whoever had once been there must have been raiding the cupboards like him and was long gone by now. He frowned and grit his teeth while in thought.

A soft sound hit his ears.

It was quiet, yet squeaky, like springs. Bed springs? The same sound hit his ears again and he peered through the door once more. Yep. Definitely bed springs.

Then it stopped.

He bit his lip softly and pushed the door open without a sound. The teen inwardly winced when he saw the wood flooring since he knew it was prone to creaking. Something that could possibly give away his position if he wasn't careful.

With one flip of his wrist, he had a sharpened kitchen knife in his fingers. Courtesy of another house, down the block, he'd raided. It was his only protection since he had no ammo left in his gun.

In less than twenty minutes, the teen had cleared the entire first floor. Much to his surprise, he found quite a bit of important things like food and first aid. That definitely meant no one had raided the place. Anyone with half a brain would have grabbed the stuff on sight.

Unless they were busy doing something else.

The sound of bed springs hit his ears once more and he realized it was coming from upstairs. He wanted to believe it was a human, but it could've easily been a walker too.

The sound stopped and he was able to pinpoint which bedroom it was coming from.

After a quick sweep of the upstairs (avoiding that one room) he stood in front of the closed door. He didn't find anything of importance, so he figured that the someone must have cleaned out the area.

Listen.

The door, despite being wood, was not very thick. He pressed his ear up against it and listened intently.

Absolutely nothing.

With a frown, he dared to open the door. It was locked.

Carl sighed softly and pulled something from his hair. It was a black/dark brown bobby pin which he used easily on the door. It was quite an impressive skill the teen had learned in the wasteland of a world.

Click. He was in.

Quiet. Careful. Stealthily. He made his way into the room while holding the kitchen knife firmly in his grasp. One false movement and he would alert the potentially dangerous raider to his presence.

The place was much smaller than the others, but was large enough to hold a bed plus other assorted furniture. On the far right was a fireplace that had small, dying embers inside. A few, used supplies were scattered on the large throw rug and lamp adorned bedside tables. One lonely bookshelf stood tall against the left wall. The living space was quite plain, only sporting a dull blue color scheme, but one thing wasn't supposed to be there.

On the bed, under a white comforter, was a small lump.

Carl felt his heart nearly stop. It certainly couldn't be his father and it certainly couldn't be a man. It was too small.

Quiet.

Step after languid step, he moved towards bed and peered over the body. Whoever it was happened to be facing away from him. On further inspection, he could see soft breathing and a little bit of blood seeping through the cream colored blanket.

They were hurt.

The boxes of used supplies suddenly made so much sense. This person, albeit obviously not male, was injured and resting up in this house. Probably figuring a teen like him wouldn't stumble over their makeshift camp.

"Mmm." The lump groaned, seeming to curl up tighter. The sound made Carl grip his knife before realizing the person was female.

Michonne?!

He grew bolder and peeled the comforter away from woman so he could see her hair.

Not Michonne. Repeat. Not Michonne!

The teen backed up on reflex, accidentally bumping the bedside table. This caused all the used first aid supplies to drop onto the floor. The next thing Carl knew, a gun was pressed firmly to his chest.

"Put the knife down."

The voice was thick and slurred from sleep, but undoubtedly feminine. It caught his attention and made his eye flicker upwards to the girl holding a firearm.

"Do you speak English, Motherfucker? I said to put the knife down."

Carl instantly dropped the weapon and put his hands up. Holy fuck.

"Good."

The girl winced and lowered the gun enough for him to notice her eyes. They were the normal brown, but had a dangerous light to them.

Distrust, anger, embarrassment, and pain were just a few emotions he was able to read.

"How did you get in here?"

She had to be about his age, maybe even a year or so older, but Carl wasn't interested in that. She was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed which gave him a good look at what he was dealing with.

Her thin muscle shirt outlined soft, noticeable curves and ample breasts. Her hips were somewhat wide, but her legs were slender and strong. It didn't help that she was wearing nothing but an almost see-through shirt and boy shorts. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he hadn't seen a girl his age in forever.

"Answer me or I will shoot."

Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he barely stammered out a reply. "I snuck in because I saw someone come in here earlier. I g-guess it was you."

The girl glowered, but adjusted her sitting position. Leaning forward, she pressed her pistol against his lower belly so that she could retrieve his knife from the floor.

The girl's head was painfully close to Carl's crotch. It was awkward. At least for him.

A second later, she sat back up and trained her gun sights onto the teen's blue eyes. This time he got a good look at her medium length, chestnut colored hair. It hung in her face and she was constantly pulling it away from her dangerous eyes.

Carl wanted to know this girl. He wanted to know her name.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"What gives you the right to know?!" She replied bitterly. "You're the one who broke into my room."

"I'm sorry. I was just curious." He muttered. The cold metal barrel pressed against his neck and he winced.

"Fuck you and your curiosity. This is a zombie apocalypse. Anyone and everyone is a threat. Don't you know that?!" She growled in a low voice.

Carl felt his lower belly stir at her words. Maybe it was the tone that set him off, but he could feel new emotions filling his head. Damn his hormones!

"Relax." He frowned. "I was just leaving."

"You're not going anywhere until I ask you a few questions."

Carl bit the corner of his lip again before giving the girl a deep sigh. "Alright, but I'd like to know your name first."

"My name is Arlet Holbrook."

 **A/N:**

 **I don't know if I'm gonna continue this. Maybe if it gets good feedback or something. Go ahead and comment or like if you want more.**

 **-Gberryb**


	3. Bloody Bandages

Carl watched as Arlet pulled the gun away from his face.

The look she was giving him happened to be very confusing to the teen, but he eventually shrugged it off. "So, you're not here to kill me?"

Carl shook his head and smiled softly. "No. I'm not here to kill you. I'm here because I'm looking for my dad."

"You said he's missing. Do you know where he might've gone?" Arlet asked.

Desperate sadness seemed to well up from inside him. Carl shook his head once again.

Arlet sighed and gave a deep wince. "Oh f-fuck."

"You alright?" Carl asked with concern. He tried to get a good look at the girl's back, but she pushed him away.

"Don't even think about touching me!"

"Wha? I-I'm just trying to help." He breathed, taking a step back. "I know a little about first aid. If you'd let me, I can patch you up."

Dangerous brown eyes met cool blue ones in a battle of glares. Carl could see the utter pain she was in, but knew that badgering her about it wouldn't achieve anything.

"No. I'll do it myself."

Arlet shakily stood, her legs quivering. The teen couldn't see any visible injuries except for a few minor bruises. Everyone had a couple of those.

She tried to walk away but doubled over in pain. All Carl could do was watch helplessly as she clung to the bedpost for dear life.

"Where are you hurt?" He asked once again. "Tell me so I can help you."

The girl continued to writhe in pain but eventually pushed up her shirt so he could see the injury. It was located on her sensitive lower back, so it was no surprise she was freaking out. Arlet cursed deeply before uttering a sincere warning.

"If you try anything..."

"I won't." He said, grabbing some medical supplies from his own bag. He knew he should keep it for himself but the girl needed it more than him. "I promise."

Carl pulled away the bloody bandages and winced at the cut. It wasn't deep, but it was longer than he'd expected. It looked like someone had dragged a knife over her back while she was squirming around. More than likely, that's what happened.

After cleaning and dressing the wound, Carl stepped back. He took a good look at Arlet who was half-standing half-sitting on the bed with her shirt rolled up. A stray tear of pain rolled down her cheek and she suddenly relaxed. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." The teen said, putting away what was left of his first aid.

Arlet breathed deeply, glancing out the dark window. There was no way Carl would be able to go back to get his other supplies and check for his father again. He'd have to stay with Arlet. There was no other way around it.

"You're thinking about staying here. Aren't you?" Arlet asked, curling up under her comforter. It looked so soft. The teen wondered how warm it felt underneath the blanket, since the room felt extremely cold.

"Yeah." He swayed, feeling his tired legs twinge from overuse. "You don't mind do you?"

Carl watched as the girl seemed to mull it over in her head. "I'll let you stay if you cover up the window and get me some food from my pack. I don't feel like getting up."

He noticed the dark colored knapsack earlier but thought nothing of it since had an even better idea than just letting her have stale old food.

"Alright."

Carl searched through house and found a couple dingy blankets that made wonderful blinds. They blocked out almost all light, and the teen felt somewhat satisfied. "What would you like me to get for you?"

"I don't know. Probably the beef jerky." Arlet replied sitting up in the now dimly lit room. The teen just laughed at her request. "What's so funny?" She asked.

"Now, this might sound crazy, but I have chocolate pudding. I'll trade you it for the jerky."

Arlet nodded and immediately took Carl's offer. He knew it had probably been a good while since she'd had anything sweet.

"Can I stay now?"

"Yeah."

The teen just snickered and watched as she practically shoveled the treat into her mouth. He couldn't help but find it slightly amusing yet also gross.

"Uh, you're not sleeping with me." She added with a look of disgust. "Just letting you know."

"I kinda figured that out already." He admitted, licking his lips of the salty snack he'd just finished. "I found a cot downstairs. I'll bring it up in a minute."

"Don't make too much noise. They'll hear."

"You mean the walkers?" Carl whispered. "Yeah, I know."

A few minutes later, the teen had set up a makeshift bed. It wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep, but it would do for the night.

"Can I please have my knife back?"

"No."

"Why?"

Carl obviously knew why, but he hated being defenseless. He figured Arlet wouldn't try to kill him since she had no real reason to. Then again, you couldn't trust anyone anymore.

She already made that quite clear.

"You might try to kill me." She scoffed. "I don't want to die because you don't trust me."

"Yeah, same here." Carl replied. "Except I can't protect myself."

"Touche, Cowboy."

She tossed the weapon at him and he caught it easily. With a smirk, the teen slipped it into his belt loop which made for a great sheath.

"If you wanna thank me, please don't stab me while I sleep." Arlet mumbled, laying her head on her pillow.

"By the way, it's a Sheriff's hat. Not a cowboy hat."

Arlet mumbled something under her breath which kind of hurt Carl's pride. "Whatever."

He was so used to hearing people say "Cool" or asking "How'd you get it?" which he would always reply with "My dad gave it to me".

It was weird having someone not care for once. Then he had to remind himself he was on his own and Arlet wasn't his friend. That made him curl up a breathe softly, a few tears burning the corner of his eyes.

No crying. No crying. NO CRYING.

He bit his lip hard, took his hat off, and cuddled up against it. Now the old, worn thing, was the last memento of his father.

At that second, the teen vowed to find Rick Grimes even if it killed him.

The next morning Carl was given an extremely rude awakening. One leg had been swept out from underneath the cot, which spilled him onto the cold hardwood floor.

"Fuck." He muttered, scrambling to his feet.

"We've got a serious problem." Arlet whispered, poking his chest.

"Wha-"

Arlet cupped a hand around his mouth and motioned for him to be quiet. Carl flushed and pulled her fingers away from his lips.

"What's wrong?" He stage whispered. This garnered a defiant glare from his temporary companion.

"Take a look for yourself."

She slowly undid the corner flap of Carl's blanket blinds. With one glance he realized exactly what she was talking about.

Down the crumbling asphalt road, in the house Carl had previously occupied, he saw movement and a flash of metal.

Shit.

Carl knew that couldn't be a walker. That was a man with a gun.

A second later, a huge group of armed men filed out of the house. He recognized the extra holster that belonged to him, being held by the obvious ringleader. They knew someone was close and were probably going to search for them.

"We need to get out of here." He breathed, feeling his heart pound. "They're gonna try to raid every house and then they're gonna find us."

"I already figured that out, Dummy." Arlet said in exasperation. "I don't know what you're gonna do, but I'm leaving."

He watched as the girl picked up her knapsack and stepped casually across the floor. Before she could unlock the door, Carl called after her.

"You're just gonna leave me behind?"

"Carl, you seem alright." Arlet admitted. "The thing is, I like being alone. You can follow me if you want, but I'm not stopping for you."

The teen gave a soft smirk and swung his canvas bag over his shoulder. "Okay. Let's go."

As much as Carl hated going with a stranger, but he didn't see much of a choice. If those men found either of them, there was no telling what they'd do.

At least Arlet seemed prepared. That was something he wasn't at the moment.

"Hurry your ass up then." Arlet cursed. "I don't have all day."


	4. Her Apartment

The new duo slipped out of the house undetected, thanks to Arlet's knowledge of the neighborhood.

Carl was pleasantly surprised when she took a shortcut through a small patch of woods before arriving at an apartment complex. It was obvious they were in a little town, so the place wasn't very big. Still, the specific building was three stories tall.

"We're going in there?" Carl gaped slightly. "Won't there be a shit ton of walkers though?"

"Yeah, but I know a safe way." Arlet muttered. "One you wouldn't even think of."

"Show me."

"Gladly."

The teen followed his companion around to the back of the building. There was a little door she unlocked and swung open. "A service staircase only made for employees. Now it's mine."

"Sweet." Carl said. "No one knows about this?"

"Not really." She replied, ushering him in before locking the door behind them both. "They think it's just part of the complex."

"My apartment's on the third floor. I cleared the place out a long time ago so we won't have to deal with anything." Arlet said. "We need to be quiet around the first and second floor. There are still walkers there."

Carl gave a curt nod and followed the girl up the stairs. It didn't take them long to reach apartment number thirty-four on the top floor. Luckily, for the pair of teens, they didn't have any run-ins with the walking dead.

"Woah. This is where you live?" Carl gasped quietly. "You have a lot of stuff."

"Yeah." Arlet smirked. "I'm a collector."

The teen's blue eyes peered from beneath the brim of his hat and trailed across knickknack after keepsake. Some were glass figurines, some were stuffed animals or posters of celebrities long perished.

One dark colored couch sat in the center of the room. Underneath it was a black rug, and in front of it was a dark oak coffee table. Bookshelves, made of the same wood, adorned every wall and encircled the minimal furniture.

It felt cramped...but cozy.

"It's nice."

"If you wanna thank me for bringing you here, don't stab me in the back, please." Arlet sighed, dropping her bag. "I don't need any bullshit right now."

"Alright. I'll stay out of your hair." He replied, watching as she walked into another room. Judging by the look of the decor, it had to be hers.

"Thanks." Arlet mumbled. "Make yourself at home, I guess." She then closed the door, leaving the teen by himself to explore.

The apartment was bigger than it looked. On closer inspection he found another room that was (more or less) empty. He figured it was his now, judging by Arlet's lack of other companions.

There was a kitchen and pantry with enough food and water to last a few days. A sliding glass door with burglar bars led to a deck and a flimsy ladder. After climbing that, he realized it led to the roof of the entire complex, which he thought was weird. Eventually he went back into Arlet's apartment and let his mind wander.

Carl's thoughts drifted back to father but he shook them out of his head. Rick was alive and getting well. There was no way he was stupid enough to die or get himself killed.

Carl was sure of that.

"Hey?! Get the fuck out!" Arlet squeaked. Carl had been so absorbed in his thinking that he had failed to check the bathroom before he went in.

"Uh, s-s-sorry!" He stuttered, whirling back into the living room. The image of her standing there in only a t-shirt made him shiver. Walking in on her half-naked had obviously been an accident, but it didn't make it any less awkward.

Then again, he didn't see anything because the shirt was too long, too saggy, and didn't hug her curves like the other one.

"You could've knocked, ya know." Arlet huffed, exiting the bathroom to sit on the couch. Now she was wearing an old pair of blood stained jeans, her shirt, and a pair of scuffed Converse.

The image surfaced in Carl's head again, which caused him to wince. "Uh, s-sorry."

"Don't worry about it." She shrugged. "Shit happens."

She grabbed a book from the coffee table and shot him a deep glare. "Just don't let it happen again. Next time I might pop you one right in the forehead 'cause I'll think you're a walker."

"Yeah. Sorry."

Arlet breathed a deep sigh of relaxation before opening her novel. He watched her thumb through the worn pages until he lost track of time.

"You need something?" She asked, giving him a sideways glance. Carl, shaken out of his stupor, shook his head.

"No. I-I just zoned out for a moment."

It was true. For the most part, he had been thinking about his dad, Michonne, and even Judith. His legs were itching for movement again, but he knew it wasn't safe to go out. All his conflicting ideas were simply crippling.

"Okay. Just let me know if you have any questions."

Carl shifted from foot to foot and felt his leg muscles twitch again. He wanted to sit down on the couch, but he didn't want to creep Arlet out any more than he had.

The teen pressed his back against an open wall and slumped down onto the tile. It felt cold, which seeped into his feverish skin. With a sigh, he pulled out his water bottle and gulped down what was left of the lukewarm liquid.

It barely quenched his thirst and he cursed when he remembered he left his other supplies at that house. Deciding it was a good time to to take inventory of his items, he emptied his canvas bag on the floor.

Damn.

No ammo. No water. No clothes. Little to no food.

Carl was in a shit load of trouble if he couldn't find those necessities soon.

"You look a little messed up."

"Huh?"

The teen glanced up at the girl sitting on the couch and frowned. "Yeah. Those shitheads probably took all my stuff. It's not like I can go back and get it."

Arlet gave Carl a sympathetic look and passed him a pristine bottle of water from her pack. "Here."

"Wha-? Why?" He asked while opening it. The crisp crack of the lid nearly made him moan. It seemed like forever since he was able to open his own fresh water.

"I'm not gonna let someone die...if I can help it." She said, getting up. "I may not look it, but I'm still human."

Carl gave a bitter laugh and took a swig of the drink. "I'll thank you, by not stabbing you tonight." He joked.

"Appreciate it." She scoffed. "Don't drink all that just yet."

"Why?"

"Gimme a minute." Arlet yawned, disappearing into her room once more. She tossed some clothing in his lap when she returned. "You should probably clean yourself up. It's not like you're gonna get a chance to do it anytime soon."

"You're right." He sighed. "Thanks."

The teen looked in the mirror and groaned softly. Bruises of assorted colors lined his arms, chest, and legs. Ever since he and Rick escaped the prison, he didn't have the time to check his appearance.

He was sort of glad he didn't.

Sweat, blood, dirt, and god knows what was matted into his hair and caked on his skin. It took an enormous amount of scrubbing to make himself seem somewhat presentable.

Not that he was trying to look nice for anyone, but he liked being clean-ish. Stripping away each filthy layer made him feel more human. Like he was becoming less of a wild animal than he actually was.

The clothes Arlet loaned him weren't too different from the ones she was wearing. A dark brown tee with stained black jeans. They were way too large to be hers, which made him wonder who they originally belonged to.

An image of the girl stripping the clothing off a corpse made him cringe deeply. Daring to take a sniff, he pressed his nose to the shirt.

It smelled like detergent.

He took another long whiff, enjoying the clean scent. It had been forever since he was able to wear CLEAN clothes.

"Thanks, Arlet." Carl muttered, sitting back down on the floor near his minimal supplies. His temporary companion was still engaged in her book and didn't look up.

"If you wanna thank me, pl-"

"Please don't stab me while I sleep." Carl snickered while cutting her off. "What's the deal with that?"

He watched as Arlet lifted up the back of her shirt. The knife injury suddenly made so much sense.

"This is why." She muttered bitterly.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."


	5. Hunted Down

Carl's sheets were freezing. Literally and figuratively. The room was chilly and he couldn't get warm. Not even his hat made him feel better.

With a soft groan, he rolled over and tried to immerse himself in warm thoughts. He wasn't very successful.

"Cold." The teen mumbled in a half-asleep/half-awake daze.

Sitting up, he touched his chest. The skin, not covered by clothing, was cool to the touch with only traces of heat beneath his fingers. "Fuck."

It took him a second to realize he could see the vapor of his own breath hanging in the air. Even in the confines of a cozy place, it was still frigid!

A few minutes later, the sound of padded footsteps echoed silently on the tile as he stepped into the living room.

"What are you doing up? Shouldn't you be asleep?" The voice said. It was sudden yet familiar and made him jump but eventually relax.

"I'd like to ask you the same thing." Carl sighed softly.

Arlet's lips curled upwards at the edges ever-so-slightly in the dim light of her candle. It flickered, casting ghostly shadows across her glinting eyes that reminded him of hot whiskey. "You should get rest when you can." She said, flipping through her book once more.

"Same for you." Carl replied. He let his eyes wander to the bookshelves of knickknacks and collectibles. "Mind if I sit next to you?"

Arlet sat up a little straighter, her body growing rigid at the question. The teen inwardly cringed and hoped he hadn't hit some sort of sore spot. After being (literally) stabbed in the back, he wasn't surprised she wasn't very trusting. He just hoped one of her previous companions hadn't done that to her.

"Sure, but don't get to close." The girl said, scooting over to make extra room on the dark colored couch. Wrapping a thin blanket around his shoulders, Carl plopped onto the cushions.

"Thanks." He muttered. "It's not like I could sleep anyway. My room's too cold."

"Mine too." Arlet admitted, holding his gaze for only a second. The teen hadn't caught onto her lack of eye contact until that point. It made him feel like an outsider, like he was doing something really wrong.

"It's not so bad in here." He whispered. "It's pretty warm."

"Yeah, wood's a natural insulator." Arlet yawned while stretching. Meanwhile, Carl's eyes surveyed the girl sitting in front of him once more.

Again he noticed the curvature of her body and the toned muscle beneath her soft skin. He couldn't help but enjoy the sight of something sweet and feminine in such a cruel world. A deep breath escaped her lungs and he observed her chest fall and rise.

Part of him couldn't help but want to touch her and make sure she was tangible. He felt as if she was out of reach when in reality she was only a foot or two away. Carl wanted to at least know he wasn't dreaming. Then again, losing his father was a nightmare he wished he could wake up from.

"You alright, Carl?" Arlet asked. Her amber eyes made him shudder with newfound warmth. "You seem a little out of it."

"Uh, yeah. I've just been thinking about...stuff."

"Okay." She hummed, licking her lips. Carl picked up on that and felt curious for some unknown reason. "Mind if I fall asleep here?"

"No. I mean, it is your couch." The teen chuckled. "Mind if I fall asleep here too?"

A short silence ensued while the two awkwardly stared one another down. Arlet was the first to speak.

"You still have your knife on you?" She asked. Carl nodded and presented it her since he figured that's what she wanted.

With a small grunt of exertion, she threw the knife across the room where it landed with a clatter. Carl bit the inside of his cheek but didn't question it. Her trust issues were more serious than he thought.

The feeling of weight in his lap made him go rigid. "Relax, Cowboy." She yawned. "I'm just doing this so I know you can't get up without me knowing it."

Arlet had changed her position into something Carl wasn't exactly comfortable with. Now it wasn't meant to be inappropriate, but it certainly wasn't something he was expecting her to do.

Since the two were facing each other while sitting on the couch, Arlet laid back and planted her feet on either side of his hips. This had her body splayed between his legs in a semi-risque fashion; that resembled more of sex position than a sleeping one.

"Uh...wha-what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to sleep." She scoffed. "This is the only 'comfortable' way we can do it together. If you're gonna act immature, then you can sleep on the floor."

The idea of relaxing on the frigid ground made him grit his teeth. Carl was no stranger to inconvenient sleeping places that made his back ache. Of course he wasn't going to sleep on the floor if he didn't have to!

"Alright." The teen squeaked, trying to relax as much as he could. It was virtually impossible to get any type of rest with her hips nearly inches away from his. Not to mention, her body heat was driving him to borderline excitement.

Damn his hormones!

For the remainder of the night, Carl Grimes desperately tried to get his head clear of raunchiness.

Crippling weight, warm breathing, and frantic shaking in the dark was the teen's wake up call. The next thing to hit his ears were rapid fire gunshots too close to home.

"Get the fuck up!" Arlet hissed through a whisper. Blunt nails dug into his chest as she clawed him into consciousness.

"Ow." The teen grunted. "What the fuck are you-mmph!"

Carl's temporary companion forced her slender fingers over his lips to silence him. Instantly he reached up to grab her hand but stopped short at the sound of muted cursing behind the apartment's wall.

"That lil' bitch has gotta be up here somewhere." A masculine voice muttered. "Took us forever to hunt 'er down."

"Yeah." Another replied. "It'd be nice if I could catch myself a new fuck toy today."

Arlet frantically pushed herself off of Carl and ran straight for the back door leading out onto the deck. Since the teen was still half-asleep/half-awake and abruptly filled with adrenaline, he followed behind her.

"The roof." She whispered, pointing at the flimsy ladder that made sense now. "We can get out this way."

The teen nodded and scrambled up the frame while making the least amount of noise possible. Arlet was behind him a minute later with a pair of backpacks with her. The first one had her stuff, the second one had his stuff.

Carl wanted to know how she had gotten everything in less than a few second but ultimately decided it wasn't important.

"How good of a shot are you?" She murmured.

"A decent one." He admitted. Lying wouldn't have helped him anyway.

"Here." She breathed, pulling out her gun and pressing it into his hands. "It's a semi-automatic M1911. I might need you to cover me if shit gets real."

Before he could say anything she pulled out an M&P 45 with a silencer and gripped it firmly. Her expression changed to something purely of animalistic rage. "I'm trusting you with my life, Carl. You'd better not fuck this up."

"Got it."

The two crossed the roof in a sprint. Once there, Arlet kicked in a vent and slipped inside. Carl followed her and together they exited on the second floor of the complex.

Walker bodies with fresh bullet holes in their skulls were strewn throughout the place. Those men had obviously saved the duo some effort of exterminating them.

"Behind this door is the washer and dryer units. Once we get through there we're home free. There might be walkers, but don't shoot them." She instructed. "Dodge 'em so we can get out without making a sound."

Carl nodded but saw something move in the corner of his eye. Out of reflex, he pointed the barrel of his borrowed gun and watched as a walker lunged towards Arlet. Even though she could have easily took it out, the distance between them was too close for comfort. The teen beat her to the chase and watched as the walker's decayed brain matter smeared against the wall from his .45 ammo.

A second later he was forced up against a wall by his own companion. "Are you a fucking idiot?" She hissed. "I told you not to shoot anything!"

Upstairs, the sound of thudding footsteps could be heard. "Someone's downstairs!" One man said. "Let's go!" Said another.

"Shit. They heard." Arlet grumbled, unlocking the door in front of her. Carl slipped a flashlight from his pocket and flipped it on.

"Don't fuck this up, Carl."


End file.
